by L C Hayden
Cannady wished Hunsicker and Swanson were with her while other troopers searched for the other two cabins. But the three of them were doing this on their own without the brass’ approval. In fact, in spite of direct orders to leave things alone.
No matter. At least they were able to cover the areas and hopefully reach Bronson before it was too late.
Cannady’s hopes soared. Through the trees she could see the first cabin. She parked, pulled the .40 caliber semi-automatic Glock out and held it at the ready. Weaving between the trees, she advanced toward the cabin even though it seemed deserted. She plastered her back against the wall and stuck her head out only far enough to see through the window.
In its prime, the place must have adequately served its owners. It offered all the necessary creature comforts one would need. But now the upholstery of the sofa had faded, and it looked dirty and worn out. A layer of dust impregnated the room. It had been a heck of a long time since this cabin was used.
Scolding herself for wasting valuable minutes, she put the gun away and bolted toward the car. She started the engine and sped out.
She wondered if Hunsicker or Swanson had met with luck. For Bronson’s sake, she hoped so. She stomped on the accelerator, pushing the Bronco almost to its endurance point. She had to close the distance between her and the other cabin.
If that’s where Bronson was being held captive, she needed to reach the place now. Every second that ticked away brought Bronson closer to death.
Forty-three minutes later, Cannady heard the crack of a pistol being fired.
Chapter 72
Just as the Raven sent the bullet speeding through the tree, Bronson stepped out from behind the cluster of trees located several yards away.
The Raven gasped and cocked her head, hearing the crunching of leaves, the sound of approaching footsteps. With the speed of a jaguar, she did a one-hundred and eighty degree turn. When her gaze landed on Bronson, her eyes popped open as huge as saucers. Her lower lip dropped. She shook herself and looked down at her hand that held the gun. Like a robot, she raised it.
But by then, Bronson had twirled the heavy sock filled with rocks, and with all his might aimed it at the Raven’s chest.
A hmmph escaped her mouth as she tumbled down, the gun landing a foot away from her. She squirmed to reach it, her arm stretched out toward it.
Bronson pushed forward, not an easy task, wearing a boot on his right foot and only a sock on his left foot. Every cell in his body focused on reaching the gun before she did. His mind screamed for him to hasten. His logic told him he’d never make it. She was a foot away. He, ten feet.
The Raven’s lips formed a thin line of success. She wrapped her hand around the Astra’s handle. She gasped in pain but managed to raise the gun an inch.
Two inches.
Bronson raised his spear above him, aiming for the Raven. He released it into the air and continued to advance.
The spear found its home in the Raven’s chest. She screamed as she pulled out the bloodied knife. The wail pierced the woods, sending a flock of birds into a frightened flight.
She inched toward the gun, her hand wide open, closing the distance between her and the pistol.
Bronson, three feet away from her, launched himself forward, landing on top of the Raven’s legs. He retrieved the fingernail file from his pants pocket and stabbed her leg.
The Raven screamed and slowed down only enough to give Bronson the advantage.
His arm stretched out, grasping for the weapon.
She squirmed, reaching for the gun.
They both grabbed it at the same time, both pulling it toward themselves.
A shot rang out.
*****
The last thing Joe Randig wanted to do was create animosity between himself, as a representative of the Pittsburgh Police Department, and the State Troopers. They often had to work together and each department always fully co-operated with one another.
That’s why he couldn’t understand the reason why the troopers were so obviously stalling. Again, Joe explained the urgency of the situation.
Mike Hoover stood beside him. His hands at his sides formed fists that trembled. He opened his hands, only to close them into fists once again. He leaned toward Joe’s ear. “This is a total waste of time. I’ve got to go help Bronson.”
Joe nodded and handed him the keys to his car. “Go with God and take caution. I’ll be in the lead trooper’s car. It shouldn’t be much longer.”
Mike nodded and made a mad dash toward the door.
Chapter 73
The shot in the woods that Cannady heard could have come from any direction. She had an idea that its origination point lay somewhere in front of her. If so, she would continue on a northerly direction. With luck, she might notice something that would lead her to Bronson. She hoped she wasn’t too late.
Unlike before, she drove slower, her gaze scanning the area. Five minutes later, she stopped. She saw something unusual halfway up the hill. A boulder? Couldn’t be. This was black with a red band across its width.
She slowed down to a crawl, focusing on the item. A backpack. What the heck was a backpack doing there? She parked and as fast as she could, ran up the hill.
Halfway up, she heard another shot. This one a bit to her right but somewhere in the general vicinity.
*****
“Congratulations, you . . . won.” The bullet had pierced the Raven’s chest and blood oozed out.
Bronson sat up and attempted to apply pressure to the wound. His efforts made no difference.
“Your reward . . . for winning. Listen . . . carefully. Sam Glass . . . you know him?”
Bronson nodded. “The lawyer?”
The Raven closed her eyes and nodded once. “He ordered . . . your death.”
“Why?”
“Was afraid . . . you’d find out . . . about the paintings.”
Bronson’s eyes narrowed and his eyebrows furrowed. His sister had died because of a stupid painting. “Glass ordered Miller to paint the forgeries, and then Glass sells them. He tricks the buyer into thinking they’re buying the original.”
Slowly, the Raven nodded. Her breath came in shallow puffs. She breathed through her mouth. “Makes . . . millions. Glass knew . . . Miller was weak. If . . . he talked . . . to you . . . he’d tell you . . . everything. Glass had . . . me kill . . . Miller.”
“Lorraine, my sister, had a La Carcé original. Miller was in the process of painting the forgeries so they could be sold. Lorraine must have found out about it. Is that why Glass had her killed?”
“She threatened . . . to go to the police.” The Raven gasped and her eyes widened. “Glass arranges . . . the sales, but . . . reports to . . .” Once again she gasped. She gave Bronson a weak smile. “You won.” Her lips formed the words as she closed her eyes.
Shiiit! “Don’t you dare die. We’re not through. Finish your damn story first.” He pounded her chest.
The Raven didn’t respond.
He pounded again and again. He continued to pound until his energy gave out.
With a loud thud, he sat back, his legs folded in front of him. He wrapped his arms around them, and rested his head on his knees, his thoughts drifting from one subject to the other.
He raised his head and listened to the sound of approaching footsteps.
Chapter 74
Sam Glass slammed the phone receiver down into its cradle. This marked the fourth time he had called the Raven, and she didn’t have the courtesy to return his calls. He grew more and more agitated as the minutes ticked away.
He drummed his fingers on the phone. The twins could reach her. They always did. Glass opened his cell to contacts and touched the letter J. John, Jack—that’s them. One and the same. If you dealt with one, you dealt with the other. Even the Raven enjoyed them both and sometimes at the same time.
Jack answered on the third ring. “Mr. Glass, good to hear from you. I hope you have an assignment for us. We’re kinda low on
cash.”
“Sorry about that, but all I need right now is some information. I’ve been calling the Raven, and she hasn’t answered my calls.”
“She’s at the cabin. No cell connection up there.”
“The cabin?” Glass sat up straighter. “What about Bronson?”
“She took him with her. She’s enjoying him, if you know what I mean.”
That fool. He had specifically told her to make Bronson’s death look like an accident. And what of Hoover? Wasn’t she supposed to take care of him too? He should have hired the twins to do the killing, not the Raven. That pervert. She had probably messed everything up.
Glass’ gaze slid to the locked file cabinet. Maybe he should consider getting rid of the evidence. Maybe he should leave the city.
Maybe.
*****
Bronson dropped to the ground and rolled toward the pistol. His fingers grabbed the handle, and he rolled again so that now he lay on his stomach, the gun pointing toward the approaching footsteps.
He waited for someone to crest the hill. Two seconds went by. Three. Nothing.
Four.
Bronson could see a shape emerging. He readjusted his grip on the pistol. He waited.
“Don’t shoot!” Cannady lowered her gun. “It’s me, Cannady.”
Bronson put the gun down, stood up, and then pocketed the Astra.
“You got a permit for that?” Cannady indicated his pocket.
“Sure do. When I retired, I registered.”
Cannady smiled and winked, letting Bronson know she was kidding. “You okay?”
“A bruise here. A bruise there. Not much else. How did you know to come here?”
“Joe Randig called.” Cannady approached the Raven’s body, bent down, and checked for a pulse. “What happened to her?”
“She got herself killed. We were wrestling for the gun. It went off. The bullet chose the victim, a matter of luck it got her instead of me.”
“That gun in your pocket. Is that the weapon used?”
Bronson nodded.
“I’ll bag it.”
Bronson reached for his pocket.
“Not now. Bags are in the car. Let’s walk down the hill so I can call this in. While we wait, you can fill me in on the details.”
Bronson threw a rock at his boot still stuck in the tree. It took him three tries before he knocked it down. He dusted the boot off and put it on. It felt good walking with shoes. “On the way to the cabin would you mind if I call Mike, my ex-partner?”
“I know who he is—and where he is.”
“Oh?”
“He’s with Joe.”
Bronson nodded. “Mike won’t admit it, but I’m sure he’s concerned about me.”
“He is.”
Bronson smiled. “Can I borrow your cell?”
“You could but it won’t do you any good.”
“Why not?”
“This is a dead zone.”
“For all providers?”
“That’s what I hear.”
Shiiit. He could have overpowered the Raven at the cabin. All those calls she supposedly made had all been fake. Double shiiit.
Cannady and Bronson reached the area where the Raven had discarded the backpack. Cannady grabbed it and continued walking down the hill. “Once we reach my car, I’ll send word to Hoover. Soon as he arrives, he can take you to the emergency room.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine.”
“That lump the size of an egg on your head concerns me. Besides, you’re going to have an adrenaline crash. Later, you can give us a statement and fill in all the gaps.”
“I’m fine, really. If you don’t mind, I’d like to hang around and answer any questions you and your team will have. After that, I’ll have Mike take me to see a doctor.”
“Suit yourself.” They reached her car and, as promised, she relayed a message to Hoover. She set the mike down and looked at Bronson. “What can you tell me about what happened?”
Bronson took a deep breath, trying to drive away the sudden fatigue that enveloped him. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You know about the paintings and the forgeries.”
She nodded.
“One of the top culprits is a lawyer named Sam Glass. He may have been the one who ordered my sister’s death. I’d like to get my hands on him.”
Cannady cleared her throat.
“But since I’m a good, law-abiding citizen, I’ll let the troopers handle it.”
“Yeah, I bet.” Cannady opened the glove compartment and retrieved some plastic bags. She opened the bag and Bronson placed the Astra inside. “Before we get to Glass, tell me what happened here.”
Bronson groaned. He’d rather put the incident behind him but knew he had no choice. “The Raven has an egg-timer back at the cabin. When the sand runs out after it’s turned over, she said she’d come hunting for me. That gave me an hour to set up the trap I devised the night before.”
Cannady took out a notebook and recorded the information.
Bronson led her twenty-feet from where they stood. He pointed to the ground. “I followed the road until this point. From here, I ran and stumbled up the hill, all the time searching for an ideal tree. When I found it, I back-tracked to the beginning, carefully wiping away every footprint. Following that path as much as possible, I erased some footprints and other give-aways, but left enough for the Raven to follow. She suspected, I imagine and hoped, that I ran like a frightened man with no destination in mind.”
“And all the time you had a goal.”
Bronson nodded.
“Oooh, you’re a devious man.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“I imagine.”
Bronson nodded and continued the narrative. Ten minutes later, they heard the crunching of tires and saw a trail of growing dust as vehicles approached.
The cavalry had arrived.
Chapter 75
“Buddy, you do this to me again . . .” Mike and Bronson stood staring at each other for the first time since the kidnapping ordeal began. Mike ran his fingers through his hair. “I swear every gray hair I have is because of you.”
Bronson cocked his head and flashed him a wide-eyed look. “Does this mean I won’t get a hug?”
“Wouldn’t think of it.”
They looked at each other, smiled, and hugged.
Several yards in front of them, Cannady and Joe talked as officers and EMT’s swarmed around the forest or flocked near the Raven’s body.
Joe looked back at Bronson and Mike but continued his conversation with Cannady. Joe nodded and they both headed toward Bronson and Mike. “I thought you were going to get checked out,” Joe said.
“I am, but I wanted to be here to answer all of the questions you have.”
Joe puckered and nodded. “You’ve cleared up most of our questions. But there is something we’d like you to do, if you’re willing.” He pointed to Cannady and himself. “But first please go get yourself checked out.”
“What do you have planned?”
“Cannady tells me you would really like to reel Glass in.”
“Yeah.” Bronson’s curiosity peaked.
“What about if we wire you and you confront the lawyer? I think you’ll get him to talk a lot easier than we could.”
“I’m all for that.”
*****
After being released from Pittsburgh’s St. Joseph Medical Center’s emergency room, Bronson and Mike sat in Joe Randig’s office. Mike watched as Joe and Cannady wired Bronson and told him how they and Mike would be parked across the street from Glass’ office. They would be listening to every word being said.
Bronson nodded, walked out, and drove himself to the lawyer’s office. He kept a close eye on the police van following him. Half-an-hour later, Bronson had reached his destination. He watched as Joe parked the van and waited a few minutes for them to set up.
The Sam Glass, Attorney at Law Office occupied the entire first floor of a four-story office building
. Not only was the place huge, but an interior designer must have earned a hefty sum to create the eye-pleasing effect the reception room had. Leather-bound sofas invited potential clients to relax while waiting to see Glass. Abstract art paintings consisting of various colors and shapes adorned the walls. Generally, Bronson preferred realistic art to abstract art, but these paintings complimented each other and added a touch of elegance. The receptionist desk could easily accommodate two secretaries at the same time.
Bronson approached the receptionist, an attractive heavy-set woman in her mid-thirties. “Cindy.” He read her name plate. “I’m Harry Bronson. You tell Sam Glass I’m here to see him.”
The receptionist thumbed through the calendar. “Do you have an appointment?”
Bronson took a step forward. “I don’t need an appointment. I assure you, Glass will want to talk to me.”
The receptionist fluttered her eyelids. “Oh.”
Bronson leaned forward, placed both hands on her desk, and smiled. “That means you’re supposed to take me to him.”
Cindy bolted to her feet. “Oh, sure. Sure.” She pressed the intercom button. “A Harry Bronson is here to see you. He assured me you’d want to talk to him.”
“He’s right. Send him in.”
Cindy opened the door almost directly behind her and indicated for Bronson to go in.
By the time he entered, Glass had walked around his desk, greeting him with an open hand and a warm smile. “Mr. Bronson, it’s good to see you again.” He pointed to the leather cushioned chairs facing his oversized desk. “Please, sit.” He walked around and sat in his overstuffed chair. “What can I do for you this time?”
Bronson sat bolt upright, his features firm. “I’m here to discuss the Raven.” Bronson studied the lawyer. Except for a tiny twitch in Glass’ forehead, the lawyer remained passive.
